


Sunday Afternoon

by tari_roo



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-23
Updated: 2011-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-27 18:37:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tari_roo/pseuds/tari_roo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill for Hawaii_50_hc commentfic meme – Steve, sore muscles. But I took it a little further.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Afternoon

Sunday Afternoon

Author: Tari_Roo

Rating: PG (Gen)

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I profit from nothing. Although if I had my way Steve would be bare-chested even more than he is, we would actually ‘see’ Danny trying to surf and Kono would be a secret Cylon. That is all.

Summary: Prompt fill for Hawaii_50_hc commentfic meme – Steve, sore muscles. But I took it a little further.

*h50*

Ok, so maybe he’d overdone it a wee bit. Maybe, he’d pushed himself a little too much on that last uphill run. And the fast paced descent. And sprint back to the car.

Steve groaned as he tried to stretch out his left leg, and felt his calf muscle protest and the back of his thigh join in. A hot shower… no bath. Yeah, that’s what he needed. The long run had been just what the doctor ordered after a rough week. Some quality alone time on the hiking trails around Manoa Falls and it’s surrounds, quiet forest, sun overhead, spears of light through the trees, occasional shower of light rain. Perfection.

“Shit!” Steve hissed at a sudden cramp and he gingerly leant forward to massage the spasm just below his kneecap. Maybe something to replace lost electrolytes first, then a hot shower. There were two or three energy drinks in the refrigerator – and a protein shake on the counter prepared before he left for the run.

The nap had definitely been a bad idea. But the couch had been so inviting and the sudden onset of exhaustion a siren call of ‘just five minutes’ and waking up to a massive cramp in your calf was no laughing matter. Sighing, Steve stared at the remote control on the coffee table. Hell, even that seemed a mile away. Biting his lip, McGarrett ignored the flare of pain in his back as those core muscles he overtaxed on the uphill squeaked in dismay as he snatched up the remote. He clicked on the TV and groaned. The pre-game show was already in full swing.

Right, time to get up, get showered and hydrated. Steve steeled himself, braced for the surge of pain, the twist of muscles pushed to their limit. It wasn’t as bad as he thought, legs a little wobbly, knees a little weak. That was right up until he tried to take a step.

And then Danny opened the front door – without knocking first – as usual.

“Stephen?”

The scenario played out across his brain like lightning. Danny walking into the room, and him taking one step and faceplanting onto the floor. Or collapsing on the couch. Or walking manfully forward with nary a limp and … yeah. That wasn’t happening.

Danny sauntered into the room carrying shopping bags of junk food and a six pack of beer. “I swear it’s impossible to find real pork rinds in this tropical hell. Candied pineapple, sure… but artificial, artery hardening fake pork… nada.”

“Yeah, go figure. What with all the fresh fruit and healthy lifestyles?” Steve smiled, sprawled oh so casually on the couch. He caught the packet of Doritos tossed at his head and waved off the offered beer. He needed something wet and cool – and wasn’t going to dehydrate him further.  
“Hey… before you sit down?”

Paused, mid bend, butt inches from the chair, Danny rolled his eyes, “What?”

“Powerade, in the fridge. Next to the dip.”

“Triple cheese and onion?”

“Hummus.”

Danny’s expression said it all but he obediently trotted off to the kitchen. “You have spent way too much time overseas, man. Hummus is not a dip!” There were sounds of cupboards opening and crashing around and Steve twisted, gently, around to see what in the hell Danny was doing.  
“Quit being so boring and safe, dude. Live a little. Try something new,” Steve called out and winced as the refrigerator door was slammed shut.

“Boring!” Steve could picture the hands, pointing and sharp in his general direction. “I was not the one who had never eaten actual gnocchi in his life!”

Snorting a little, Steve checked the TV screen and yelled back, “Potato dumplings… yeah, real adventurous, babe. Games about to start.”

A cold, blue powerade was slammed into his outstretched hand and Danny laid out what seemed like half a dozen bowls of msg, salt and artificial colorants. Steve ignored the bowls and said slowly, “You sure you wanna back the Giants? They’ve been having…”

A Danny finger was pointed in his general direction and Williams growled, “We, and by we, I do mean we, are supporting the Giants. When its West Coast vs East Coast… fine… we can disagree but St Louis? We, you, are supporting the Giants.”

Steve pulled the lid off the bottle and gulped down the much needed liquid. A shower still sounded like a great idea, but the bowl of fluorescent orange something shoved under his nose distracted him. Steve sighed, took a handful and shoved it into his mouth. The whistle blew, Danny’s hands flew up and the entertainment began.

Now, Steve was a fan of football, most definitely. But the real treat in watching a game with Danny – was well, Danny. “Come on! Pull it together! Run the ball!”

The couch was soft, the powerade gone and there was a tickle of contentment curling around his spine – muscles quiet and calm now that he wasn’t trying to get up. “Argh!! It’s like watching the school of the blind! Throw the damn ball!”

Halftime came a lot sooner than expected and Danny’s thump on his leg twisted a knot of pain through his thigh, and Steve grunted. “Sheesh… you actually went for a run this morning, didn’t you?” Danny was sipping on his third beer, the bowls mostly empty around them and Steve was a little surprised to find an empty bowl on his chest – the cheetos gone – and in his stomach. “Yeah,” Steve grunted, and wondered if he could – should – move and decided not to.

“Sadistic moron. And now you’re sleeping through the game. Nice hostess skills, dude.”

“You invited yourself, babe.”

Danny however was staring at Steve, like he was detecting… ah … putting the pieces of a puzzle together. Steve faked nonchalance, and went for casual loafing. Danny narrowed his eyes and said, “Another power-thing?”

Steve nodded, and Danny ambled into the kitchen. This time the half-time show was louder than Danny and Steve nearly drifted off to sleep again.

“Here!”

Steve pulled his eyes from the screen and saw another powerade right in front of his face. And a hand holding out a hot compress. “Take them already, doofus before my beer gets warm.”

Grumbling, Steve did just that, and gratefully placed the compress, still hot from the microwave, on his legs. Danny didn’t say anything, well verbally – his expression said a lot, and turned up the game.

“Thanks, Danno.”

Danny waved it off, and said, “I swear not only is this ref blind, he’s colour blind too! Run, morons!”

Steve might have fallen asleep… he might have seen the whole game and just not cared, but when he realized they were watching some lifetime movie with Tom Selleck (without a mustache), he figured it was safe to kick his partner out and get in that shower.

Only, Danny was now asleep.. or rather, asleep too. And he looked kinda… restful, peaceful. So Steve moved the lukewarm compress, settled deeper into the couch and went back to sleep.  
*

Fin

AN: Right – I have no clue if this makes linear sense that Danny and Steve can watch football on a Sunday afternoon if it screens Sunday night on the mainland (and I am too lazy to research it beyond finding actual games). I’m fairly certain it's close, but no real cigar. AND I mixed the symptoms of acute muscle exhaustion and DMOS for effect. And yeah, Steve would know better than cooling down without stretching, yadda yadda. Its h/c afterall.


End file.
